


Golden Morning

by MournfulSeverity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Butterflies, Canon Related, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Quidditch, Realization, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 05:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MournfulSeverity/pseuds/MournfulSeverity
Summary: Harry loves the feel of the air around him, the empty space beneath him. He loves flying perhaps more than anything else, more than Hogwarts, more than magic. He did not, however, expect to train Draco and he certainly didn't expect to add Draco to the list of things he loves.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	Golden Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK
> 
> Prompt: Harry and Draco are childhood rivals. Choose either 1) University AU -OR- 2) Coffeeshop AU -OR- 3) Teammates AU. Minimum: 766 words - Maximum: 976 words.
> 
> Word count: 962

It was bloody early in the morning, the sky colored with faded greys and beginning yellows as the sun just began to crest over the nearby hills illuminating the day to come. There was only one reason in his life that Harry had ever been dragged out of the comfort of his bed this early in the morning, a cruel act not even the Dursleys had inflicted on him. No, this torture rested with Oliver Wood. 

Harry could see the shadows of sleep on the faces of each team member that surrounded him, the lines of rumpled sheets still pressed into skin. They were exhausted, but  _ they _ were used to it. Anger, however, radiated from the other side of the tent where the Slytherins stood, not as familiar with Wood's need for early morning practice. A half formed, distracted thought crossed Harry's mind. Today might result in Wood's murder.

_ Interhouse camaraderie.  _ Harry scoffed to himself. As if today would ease the hundreds of years worth of tension that had stretched between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. He could swear sometimes that Dumbledore was truly losing it.

"Erm, Malfoy." Wood gestured to the pale blond, the youngest in the crowd. The one Harry was sure he hated most. "Since this is your first year as seeker why don't we have Potter show you the ropes?"

The words had barely escaped his mouth when a cacophony of protests filled the canvas tent. Marcus Flint's rang out above them all.

"So Potter can  _ cheat? _ " Flint snarled. "He'll teach malfoy incorrectly, giving your team some sure wins."

The thought was tempting. Or maybe Harry could even get Malfoy knocked off the broom, ruin any desire he felt about playing quidditch. Then Harry wouldn't have to play against him at all. 

"No I won't." Harry insisted, his voice seemingly appalled. "What's the fun in playing a game you'll always win? Get a bit old I think."

The expression on Wood's face told Harry he felt otherwise. 

"Look"— Wood turned back towards the Slytherin team —"I don't like the idea much either, but I'm afraid we don't have a choice. We're mixing teams for today, Dumbledore's orders."

Flint's face hardened, his nose quivering in rage before he blurted out a "fine!"

"Fred you're with them, George…"

Wood's voice faded into the background as Harry's attention fell on Malfoy who was making his way across the tent, expression unreadable. 

There it was again, that annoying, incessant fluttering in his stomach that had persisted since they returned to Hogwarts. It reminded him of the Cornish Pixies Lockhart had set on them earlier in the week. He must be getting sick. 

Harry clutched the handle of his Nimbus, his knuckles growing whiter than usual. He tore his gaze away from the other boy, heading instead towards the leather trunk that sat near the exit of the tent, jerking with each movement of the bludgers inside.

He clicked the golden locks, his palms growing sweaty with each thump of Malfoy's footsteps behind him. They'd never been forced to interact, not like this. Now, the morning stretched out before them. It was a Saturday. There was no telling how long Wood would keep them there. How long would him and Malfoy be… _ alone?  _ The broom slipped from his sweaty hands as he suddenly felt a lot sicker.

"Great,  _ you're  _ who's training me?  _ Butterfingers?  _ Put too much polish on your broom?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." As if this day could get any worse. 

He undid the clasp that held the snitch in place, clutching the golden ball tightly in one hand, his broomstick again in the other. How he hoped Malfoy would be bad at this. Memories of their first flying lesson proved it was doubtful. 

Saying nothing, knowing he was behind him, Harry pushed the flap of the tent open, stepping onto the grass of the field. He opened his palm, allowing the snitch to flutter free. It hovered just for a moment above his skin before sensing its freedom and darting off into the crisp morning sky. 

Harry mounted his broom, intentionally losing track of the ball and hoping Malfoy would do the same. He felt a familiar freedom as he lifted from the ground, as he clenched the handle of his broom beneath his leather gloves. This was one of his favorite places in the world, even Malfoy could dull it only slightly. 

He turned towards him a minute later, gaze locked on the cool grey steel of Malfoy's eyes. "Just...catch it." He shrugged, there wasn't much to it. What Wood — or Dumbledore for that matter — thought Harry could help him with he wasn't sure.

Saying nothing, Malfoy darted into the brightening sky, Harry following closely behind him. They swirled around one another, each searching for that distant sparkle as the other players filtered out into the ground below, separated into two teams that no longer made sense. 

Harry was distracted for a moment by the transformed red and green, seeing some of his teammates on the opposing side. There was something fitting about Fred wearing Slytherin colors. 

From the corner of his eye he saw a flash, a mixture of brown, green, and yellow zipping forward. He snapped back to attention, following closely behind Malfoy, pushing forward on his broom, faster and faster until he had evened up alongside him. 

Maybe he should go easy on the Slytherin. Nah. 

His arm outstretched, fingers reaching impossibly further to graze the snitch when Malfoy's did the same. Instead of cool metal, Harry felt the sudden warmth of skin beneath his own, the warmth blossoming and spreading through him until it reached his heart. He paused, the game forgotten, the pixies beating wildly inside his stomach. He had never been sick at all.


End file.
